Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller We weren’t the only ones with an idea for a Saturday evening walk on the spillway. There were the fishermen who met us on the way to their cars. Three different groups, and they all had a contented look that said the fishing was good. The first guy said the bass were biting. Another man gave me a rundown on a big carp — it must have been 10 pounds, he said with a laugh. The third guy mumbled that he caught a few, which translates in fishing language to fantastic fishing, although I’ve yet to hear the latter statement, ever. Bob and Gail with me and two of the dogs on a fall spillway walk.  The river is a good place to go and reconnect yourself. Then there was that family fishing by the spillway, the kids all lined up oldest to youngest, and the little guy’s pole bending with a bluegill. That was almost too pretty for words. A father and son pedaled past us on their way to the unspoiled waters of the second spillway. You could almost feel their ener...

David Heiller We picked apples on Saturday, I’m not sure what kind they are. They are soft and early. When you cut into them, they turn brown before your eyes. But boy do they make good applesauce. Just ask Cindy. 1983: Our apple tree and I were both in full bloom! Every year I bring in two five gallon buckets of these big apples into the kitchen. Every year she groans like Atlas. And every year she makes the world’s best applesauce. It starts with the picking. This year Noah and his friend, Ryan helped me. They climbed the step ladder and reached what they could. Then I climbed and reached what I could. I tossed them down to the boys, who put them in the buckets. Since it was Ryan’s first time picking apples with us, he got to hear my only apple joke. It’s an old joke, passed down from the beginning of time. ADAM: “What’s worse than biting into an apple and seeing a worm?” EVE: “Biting into an apple and seeing half a worm.” I told the boys about picking ap...

David Heiller If Miss Emma could talk, she might tell you that fall is just around the corner. Other famous female weather watchers like Helen Feldt, Dutch Jones, and Sue Thue can put their noses to the air and sense that fall is close by. Miss Emma was a good hunter, but her only opportunity for bird hunting was from the picture window. Dutch knows it when her bear friends out east of Bruno stop making amorous advances and head for a warm winter bed. Helen knows it when the temperatures in the Cloverton area drop below 40 degrees and threaten tomato crops. Sue knows it when she starts daydreaming about the smell of her wild rice parching west of Sandstone. But Miss Emma knows it’s fall when the mice start to move into the house. Miss Emma, you see, is our cat. Miss Emma, like all cats, is fat, lazy and ar­rogant. But she can catch mice. She doesn’t eat them. Instead, she lays them out for us to see, like trophies. In the late fall, she will sometimes have three mic...

David Heiller It’s kind of fun to process a deer, and this year was even more enjoyable, thanks to Rosie the dachshund. Not everyone shares my enthusiasm for cutting up deer. I asked Nathan Hahn how he liked it, because I knew he had shot a deer. His proud mother, fill, had announced it to her coworkers at the Caledonia Argus. Even Rosie couldn't handle  this hunk of venison Nathan replied, rather forcefully, that cutting up deer is not his favorite activity. That came as no surprise. I was 16 years old once.  It's not a chore that most young folks relish. In fact, Jill chimed in, her family was giving the deer away. The weather was warm, and they didn't know when they would get to it, and they had so much meat already, being Hahns and all. And that led to me getting a deer that cost me nothing more than a sincere thank you. It was an even better way to acquire a deer than last year, which came at the expense of the bumper of my Honda Civic. So I took half...